


a stretch of gold, irresistible

by mistykasumi (oultrepreu)



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: 1000-3000 words, M/M, POV Second Person, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-21
Updated: 2004-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oultrepreu/pseuds/mistykasumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He is golden and lithe, wiry and graceful, an absolute terror with the grace of a god."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a stretch of gold, irresistible

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://community.livejournal.com/yuletide/profile)[**yuletide**](http://community.livejournal.com/yuletide/) 2004, to [](http://deepsix.livejournal.com/profile)[**deepsix**](http://deepsix.livejournal.com/).

When you meet him, you forget your predicament. He is golden and lithe, wiry and graceful, an absolute terror with the grace of a god. His eyes are intense, and you feel like he is trying to see through you, inside you, see the exact kind of person you are. You are afraid that he will see and hate you for all the things you didn't mean to do, and for some reason you don't even know yourself, you desperately want him to like you.

You train alongside him, and although you are older, he soon becomes much better than you. His potential seems limitless, and you think that he is truly a goddess's son, power simmering underneath human skin, elegant in everything he does, and so unreachable in every way.

Yet somehow, you soon find yourself close friends with him, this almost immortal, and he is just like you in some ways, with a boy's dreams of war and honor and glory. His voice is excited when he talks about what he envisions for himself, a great warrior known by all, and there's a fire in his eyes that you can't name when he talks about having you by his side, always. You realize that because he is an almost-god, no one dares to touch him, and that's why he relishes you so much, the only close contact he has. You are glad that the Fates chose you to be the only one who can touch him, touch this handsome boy who is stronger than anything you have ever seen.

You are always by his side, and you learn to know everything about him. You learn the way his hair flies when he races ahead of you, whispery and wild, the way he laughs as he waits for you at the finish line, clear and triumphant, and the way his words feel on your skin when he tackles you and pins you down, rushed and hot, and you think to yourself that you want this.

The years pass by, and you forget that you used to be a prince yourself, that you haven't always been by his side, that you had a life before him. All you know are days filled with him. You train with him, you race him (and always lose), you wrestle with him, and when need be, you dress him in armor and undress him as well.

You've become used to his weight on your body as he pins you down into the dirt, hands tight around your wrists, sweat running down his face, which is right above yours, breath hot against your skin and mingling with yours, and his chest moving up and down in the tiny space between your bodies, part of the steady rhythm that the two of you make. You also know the way his skin feels against your fingers, soft and smooth (but you know his hands are callused, like yours) and the way it glows gold in the light, sun-blessed and precious, and your touches always linger a little too long, but he never says anything. Sometimes, you pretend that he wants it, too; when you do that, you grow bolder, rest your hand against his skin and forget that he's not yours, that you're only fantasizing, and he lets you.

He first kisses you after yet another race, when he has you pinned underneath him. You are surprised because you have never thought that he would possibly want you, a person so much lesser than him, a person who fell from princehood with so much disgrace, a person who will never shine the same way he does, when he can have anyone he wants, yet you are also not surprised at all because you have always known that he will be the one who kisses you first, he who is so much more daring than you.

His tongue is clumsy, but so is yours, and the two of you fumble together in a first kiss, between the two of you and for each of you. He's grinning when the two of you break apart, and he gets off of you and pulls you to your feet. He tells you that he's wanted this for forever, and you tell him that you have, too.

He takes you to his room, and he undresses you slowly, fingers lingering over your skin the same way yours have lingered over his. His mouth is warm and his tongue lazy, and he licks down your neck slowly, like he's licking up spilled honey from your skin. You push him down onto the bed and his tunic out of the way, and you lick your name across his chest, marking him as yours.

You can feel his chest rise up and down in a constant, swift pattern, and you feel the need flowing through you faster and faster. You wrap your hands around his cock and stroke it the same way you've always stroked yourself while pretending it's him, and he thrusts at you, head thrown back and golden hair everywhere on the pillow, voice low and hoarse and needy as he calls your name.

You lick his cock slowly, and the sound that he makes is unbelievably delicious and makes your head dizzy with want and need. You suck him clumsily, doing what you think he'll like and trying to figure out what he does like so you can make it good for him. His hands tangle in your hair and bring your head up, and when you look at him, face flushed and mouth open, you want him more than ever.

He lets you take him, and he is unbelievably hot and tight. You have never thought that it would feel this good or be this arousing, the way he looks when you're inside him, with his eyes closed and sweat glistening like dewdrops on his perfect skin. Your name is a mantra on his lips, like you're everything that matters, and it becomes enough to send you over the edge, where it's just you and him, entwined together so tightly that the two of you will never be able to be separated.

Later, he tells you that though he wishes the two of you could have met as princes, he's glad that it's like this because he wouldn't have had the chance to know you like this otherwise or be able to have you with him, always.

When his father sends him to Chiron, he tells you to wait for him, always. You tell Achilles yes, always.

You have forgotten you are a liar.

04.12.21


End file.
